


The Demise of Cersei Lannister

by melroihag



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Other, first got fic, how I imagined GoT ending, kinda went off on it's own tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 06:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18733201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melroihag/pseuds/melroihag
Summary: The sounds of battle going on outside, muffle as the silence of the room envelopes them. She turns fully to face him, still unable to find the right words to say to the man who, once upon a time, knew all there was to know about her, and she, him.





	The Demise of Cersei Lannister

**Author's Note:**

> This was imagined weeks before the Battle For Winterfell and the reveal of Arya being the one who killed the Night King. (And before you yell at me for "spoiling" it, you should've watched Episode 3 already.)

Cersei paced back and forth in front of the throne she would die for, as she listened to the screams and cries outside. She hadn't been able to think straight when she got word of Jaime being in King’s Landing, arriving in the midst of battle.

 

Sending every guard she has, she ordered them to find him and bring him to her. Alive. Euron finding out being the least of her worries.

 

She turns suddenly as the sound of footsteps echo around the room, anxious anticipation causing the hairs on her arms to raise.

 

The familiar face came to a halt as soon as they laid their eyes on her.

 

The room suddenly feeling entirely too big, as the distance between herself and the eyes of her brother collide in a wordless confrontation.

 

Jaime looks battle-worn. Grey flecks highlighting his hair and beard. Quite a number more wrinkles and creases now adorn the face she's not stopped thinking about, since he left King's Landing. Left her.

 

The sounds of battle going on outside, muffle as the silence of the room envelopes them. She turns fully to face him, still unable to find the right words to say to the man who, once upon a time, knew all there was to know about her, and she, him.

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he took a step forward. Hesitant at first, almost anticipating a reaction. When he didn't receive one, he took another step.

 

With her mind racing of all the things she wanted to say to him, all that made it passed her lips were;

"You're here."

 

He took another step, his head tilting just a fraction, if she hadn't been studying his every move, she would've missed it.

 

"Am I?" He asks, taking another step toward her.

 

The words spoken by him don't sit right with her, her gaze narrowing as she mulled over his particular word choice.

 

But before she could say anything, he lifted his hand to his neck. A gasp getting lost somewhere in Cersei’s throat as she witnessed the face of her twin brother being torn off, to reveal her youngest son, Tommen.

 

Her stunned gaze trailing from his soft blonde hair, to his angelic baby face, to his bloodied robes. The red stain causing a strangled noise to escape her.

“Who… what… are you?” her confident facade slipping, as her words stumbled out followed by a sharp intake of breath.

 

Tommen took a step toward her, his face stoic as his placed his hand over some of the red stain covering the majority of his robes. He didn’t say a word, just looked at her curiously.

Cersei’s breaths coming in short and quick, as she tried desperately to process just what on earth was going on right now.

 

After taking one more step, Tommen lifted his hand to his neck, the stoic look on his face dissolving into the innocent smile of Myrcella, who then took a step closer to her mother.

 

Upon seeing her darling daughter, a cry involuntarily left her, echoing around the room.  
“No!” Cersei mumbled, her heart rate increasing tenfold as she faintly became aware of this being gradually getting closer to her.

 

Taking her own step back, she stumbled on the bottom step of the Iron Throne stood behind her.

Unable to hide to the shake in her hands, or the panic in her eyes as her only daughter raised her hand to her neck. If what came next was anything like the previous two, she knew what to expect, but not who. It never crossed her mind, any single part of this scenario playing out, but she never thought that in her lifetime she’d be face to face with her eldest son again.

 

Blinking disbelievingly, Cersei feels one of her knees go weak, and the air leave her lungs as her Joffrey took a step towards her.

 

Unable to form words, she holds herself up with the arm of the Iron Throne behind her. She wonders for a split second if she has in fact gone entirely mad.

"J-joffrey..." She stutters out in a near whisper, the part of her heart that broke when he died, igniting a spark of false hope.

"Not quite." The voice of her son spoke, the very sound causing a traitorous tear to fall down her face.

His sinister smirk widening as he took a few steps closer to her.

 

Cersei could feel herself getting increasingly lightheaded, upon seeing the faces of her three deceased children, a sharp pain throbbed achingly in her stomach. Her shaking hands absentmindedly coming up to place over her lower stomach. She was too in shock to take much more notice, besides the fact she was in a great deal of pain as the discomfort she felt grew with every breath she took.

 

With not much space between them left, Cersei watched horrified as Joffrey drew closer, the glint of pure evil shining briefly in the candlelight which lit the room.

 

“I’ve been waiting for this…” the voice of Joffrey spoke, taking another step closer, his attention travelling around the room, before his gaze landed on the woman before him.

 

Although she was now standing tall, her shaking hands didn't of unnoticed as Joffrey’s eyes cast down, his grin widening as a maniacal laugh left him, resonating through the room, bouncing off the walls. The sudden loud noise causing Cersei to flinch.

“…oh, for a very long time.” he beamed, the wild look in his eyes causing a chill to run down her spine. Thinly veiled terror shone in her eyes now, causing Joffrey to take one final step.

 

Barely a foot apart, he waited until he saw his mother’s shoulders relax minutely, before aggressively ripping his face off to show that of Sansa Stark.

 

Cersei’s mouth fell open just as Sansa’s hand came out from behind her cloak, a fancy-looking dagger cradled in her clenched fist.

 

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, the long stretch of silence absolutely deafening.

Sansa saw the moment in Cersei’s eyes, once the Queen briefly glanced down at the weapon in her hand. She was impressed by the way Cersei schooled her features, her stance strengthening as she spoke with an unwavering tone.

 

“You wouldn’t.” she said simply, and if Sansa knew any better, she’d imagine a smirk playing on the edge of Cersei’s lips.

 

A small huff of a laugh left Sansa, accompanied by a slowly-growing righteous smirk of her own.

Cersei’s stare narrowed upon hearing such a laugh, and with an unshakable air of confidence radiating from the young woman she knew how to so easily manipulate.

Inching forward, her body language resembling that of one who were about to whisper a secret to another, she smiled victoriously when Cersei leant the tiniest bit closer.

 

The pain in Cersei’s stomach caused a strangled cry to leave her, the pain threshold she’d bared through, bursting not a moment after she leant closer to Sansa. The dots connecting in her head after a second, Cersei glanced down as she struggled to take a breath.

 

Red. Everywhere. Blood. Warm. Hers.

 

Cersei snapped her head up to find Sansa not longer smirking at her, but glaring at her disgustedly.

“You did…” the Queen choked out, the pain somehow both increasing and lessening at the same time.

 

“I didn’t.” Sansa spoke those two words before finally revealing the face behind the many faces.

Arya Stark.

 

Not a second later, Arya twisted the dagger that was plunged in Cersei’s stomach. Standing strong as the Queen slouched against her, struggling to breathe. Arya held the queen up by her throat, her grip around Cersei’s neck tightening with every stifled breath she managed to draw in.

 

“This is for my family.” Arya spat, pulling the dagger out slowly, painfully, then raising her hand to slit the queen’s throat.

 

Watching the life drain out of the person who was the top of her list of people to kill wasn’t as satisfying as she’d imagined. But knowing that Cersei Lannister was never going to take another breath again? That was enough to put her revenge-ridden bloodlust to rest… for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea of how I'd like GoT to end and this is kind of it... but yeah.. this is my first GoT fic so left me know what you think. (Please be gentle!)
> 
> My original idea had been the faces of those Cersei had killed (e.g. Olenna, etc.) being the ones to walk towards her and freak the shit out of her, but it came out on paper as her children... and I think there's something kind of more sinister to that. Something she deserves (obvs) but yeah.


End file.
